


Ties

by TheGoodDoctor



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Mostly Fluff, idk - Freeform, it's all about ties??, so much fluff like really, this made sense to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 16:19:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3575898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGoodDoctor/pseuds/TheGoodDoctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shelagh and the ties that bind her. Turner-family fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ties

**Author's Note:**

  * For [combefaerie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/combefaerie/gifts).



_1)_

Sister Bernadette thinks she's possibly never felt this awkward. She's been tasked, in Sister Julienne's absence, with assisting Doctor Turner in getting TB screenings for Poplar. This is what she should be focusing on, not the car ride here in almost-comfortable, natural silence. Not the way the leather smells of the Henlys he smokes, the Henlys her dad smoked, the Henlys she loves. Not the way their hands brushed, briefly, and her nerves lit up at the contact. Not the way that...well. None of those things.

He turns the corner then, flicking water droplets off his fingers and sending her a brief, nervous smile. His hair's a little damp, and she thinks he's tried to smooth it. Always the best impression, but she likes his hair in it's usual, slightly ruffled state. It means he's busy, but he said once that when he's busy he's happy. Sister Bernadette has held on to too many small things that Doctor Turner has said, trying to find out something about him even though it hurts to know she'll never really understand. His suit is neat enough, shoes shining but nothing special, coat not the newest. The doctor is, in many ways, generally unremarkable in appearance. Sister Bernadette hates herself for thinking that he's the most handsome, wonderful man she's ever met.

“I haven't got something on my face, have I?” She's stared too long, and he's smiling bemusedly.

She blushes. “No, um, come here.” She beckons him closer before she loses her nerve and he obliges, shoes clicking in the silence of the corridor. “Here.” She reaches up, noticing how much taller he is than her yet again, and takes his tie in her hands. She straightens it as slowly as she thinks she can get away with, appreciating how close they are, before letting go and stepping back. “There.” She smiles timidly and, before she can stop herself, says “Now you're perfect.”

He beams, and she hates the way that she melts.

* * *

_2)_

Shelagh doesn't like the length of this Church. She's only disliked it as of half a second ago, but she is certain. It's not like they're using all of it anyway, only half, and yet there's the entire length stretched out before her. Meters and meters of rolling carpet, of the possibility of tripping and falling flat, of eyes all focused on her.

Shelagh had never liked being the centre of attention like Trixie, or been able to deal with it so well as Jenny. Most of the time it wasn't a problem. Now, she was so nervous Shelagh thought she might just throw up, or run away.

Her eyes raise from the floor she would have to walk down, and see the end. Shelagh takes one involuntary step forward, towards him. To Patrick, where she is safe. Where she is the centre of his attention, and in the best way. To those she loves.

Keeping her eyes focussed on their backs, on her destination, on her future, Shelagh walks slowly but determinedly.

Patrick turns, and his jaw drops slightly. She beams with pride at the response she garners and he returns it, looking joyfully confused at his luck in having her.

When she eventually makes it to his side, she reaches up with more confidence than before and flattens the fabric of his tie gently. Her hand rests against his thumping heart for a moment before he lifts her hand and kisses her fingers. Their joined hands fall to their sides and the service begins, the ties between them cemented.

* * *

_3)_

“Mrs Turner, I need to see you in my office.” Patrick leans out of his door as he waved off his patient, the last for a while. Shelagh stands, following him in.

“What is it? Is Mr Holt not well?”

Patrick waves a hand. “Fine.” He wraps one large hand around her hip bone and tugs her closer. “I missed you.”

She raises an eyebrow, smiling and placing her hands on his chest. “I was next door, dear.”

He raises a finger. “But I can't do this with you next door.” He leans in, holding her tightly close and kissing her softly. “Can I?” he breathes.

“Some patients might have complaints,” she whispers and he's smiling broadly when he kisses her again, more passionately. Her hands fix on the first thing she can reach and Shelagh clings to it like a lifeline, moaning softly.

“Especially if we did that,” Patrick says, altogether too smugly, and Shelagh uses his tie ruthlessly to pull him back to her lips, until he's moaning too. One hand remains fixed on his tie, the other sneaks up into his hair, cradling his head close. Patrick makes an indignant noise, as if to accuse her of cheating, and pulls her hair from it's bun to reciprocate. She leans against his desk for stability when the cold, hard wood reminds her of precisely where they are. Shelagh gasps, pulls back and looks at her watch, before wincing.

“What?” Patrick says, hopeful but resigned to the fact that they have to stop.

“Mrs Jefferson is always early and she's due now,” Shelagh grimaces, turning to his mirror and efficiently twisting up her hair.

Patrick leans back and shuts his eyes, groaning softly. “And we were having so much fun.” She giggles and he grins boyishly at her in the glass.

Shelagh leaves him to get the ruffles out of his hair and enters the waiting room just as Mrs Jefferson enters. “Perfectly on time,” she smiles.

The older woman gestures at her four-year-old son. “He fell,” she says gruffly.

“Oh, dear.” Shelagh frowns, rounding her desk and kneeling before the sniffly child. “Doctor will see you soon, but I can look after this knee of yours,” she smiles at the boy, who gives Shelagh a watery smile in return.

Patrick opens his door, hair neatened, and smiles at his patient. “Good morning. Come on in.”

Mrs Jefferson frowns, tilts her head back primly and brushes past him. Patrick raises his eyebrows and is about to close the door when his wife coughs definitely. Shelagh mimes wiggling something around her neck and he looks down at the mess she has made of his tie. He winces, rearranges it as best he can and then beams proudly at her. Shelagh's bright laugh rings through the surgery.

* * *

_4)_

Angela yawns widely and squirms a little, before blinking her tiny eyes open and staring straight at her dad. Patrick smiles softly down at her, one arm supporting her head and the other hand coming up to take her miniature fist. The fingers which wrap around his index barely even reach all the way and her prehensile grip fills her parents with joy. Shelagh thinks her heart will burst.

Angela had been a beautiful surprise. She had so wanted a baby of her own, to carry a child which was partly her and partly the man she loved. To experience a kick against a taut belly, to place Patrick's hand against it, to show Timothy his new baby brother or sister's hand or foot. But the TB which had nearly taken her life had taken that from her too. However, looking at Patrick gasping and cooing at Angela, none of that matters.

Angela is so beautiful, so precious, so tiny. The thought of giving her away, or worse, having her taken, is so repellent that Shelagh sometimes struggled to put her down for a nap. She is everything Shelagh had ever wanted in a tiny bundle of blankets, and her boys love her. Never had her family been so appreciated by Shelagh.

“Do you want to see your mummy?” Patrick says softly, handing Angela over carefully, as if she were made of glass. Somehow in the transition, Angela grabs Patrick's tie, clinging to it tightly. Shelagh takes her baby and the motion pulls Patrick forwards in an effort not to dislodge their baby until their noses bump and they laugh softly in surprise. Shelagh closes the distance for a gentle kiss, lasting until Patrick is nudged forwards again by the tiny fist beneath them.

He chuckles, looking down at her. “Darling, do you mind?” He looks back at Shelagh. “Tie grabbing. She takes after you.” He grins cheekily.

“Patrick!” Shelagh laughs, blushing.

Patrick looks mock-innocent, which is spoilt by his grin. Timothy, who had been stealthily passing through, stops. “Ew,” he frowns, and continues out with a tiny smile as his parents' laughter follows him.

* * *

_5)_

Patrick arrives downstairs in a whirlwind of 'I spent too long reminiscing and forgot I had a job', sitting quickly and starting on the breakfast Shelagh sets before him with a grateful smile.

“Your son takes after you,” Shelagh playfully admonishes. “I've no idea what's taking him so long, on his first day.”

Patrick frowns around his food. Swallowing, he calls “Tim! Quickly!”

Feet thunder on the stairs and Patrick looks very proud of himself. The door bursts open and Timothy is framed in the doorway, new socks, trousers and shirt very neat, jumper slung over one arm, tie clenched in the other fist and tears in his eyes.

“Tim!” Shelagh cries, rushing over as Patrick nearly chokes in his hurry to push his chair back. “What's wrong, darling, what is it?” Her hands rub up and down his arms and he sniffs.

“I can't do my tie,” he says, choking on tears.

Shelagh softens. “Let me.” She takes the strip of fabric, looping it around his neck and under his collar. He watches closely as she wraps it carefully and slowly, so he can learn. Shelagh tightens it neatly up to his top button, shows him how to tighten and loosen it, and takes his jumper. Timothy allows her to bunch up the neck and dress him in his new, named uniform until he looks “just as smart, if not smarter, than all the other boys,” his father declares. Timothy blushes and looks at the floor, brushing away a last tear. Shelagh smooths his hair, and Tim impulsively wraps his arms around her waist.

“Thanks mum.”

Shelagh holds him tightly. “I'll always help you, Tim.”

“And then, when you learn more than we ever knew at your new school, you can help us,” Patrick adds happily.

Tim rolls his eyes, and Shelagh laughs. “Ungrateful youth.”

He grins up at her. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

* * *

_+1)_

It's the second week of the summer holidays. The novelty of no school has worn off and the rain of a true British summer has set in. Timothy is lying face down on the living room carpet, despite Shelagh pointing out that it was much worse a child in Scotland.

“Do something, Tim.” Shelagh sits by him and rubs his back between his shoulder blades. “Anything.”

“Like what?” It's less of a question, more of a morose statement of boredom.

“Clean your room,” Shelagh suggests, chuckling at the face he makes. “What if you make a project of some kind? Make something to show your dad when he gets back.”

“Not craft.”

“Not craft, if you don't want to. Something you're interested in.”

Timothy gains a thoughtful expression. “All right. Can you get me dad's medical journal?”

“You're as tall as I am, now. You have as much chance as I do.”

“I know,” he grins mischievously. “Just rubbing it in.”

Shelagh rolls her eyes and swats the back of his head lightly as she gets up. “Are you going to tell me what it is?”

“Not yet.”

Later, when Patrick is home and they've all eaten, Timothy sits them all on the sofa with Angela in Shelagh's lap and Patrick's arm slung over her shoulders. Timothy clutches his papers before him and begins.

“Recently I spoke to you two about how immune systems and mother-baby bonds are strengthened by breast feeding. I noticed that since, Mum frowns sometimes when preparing Angela's food.” Patrick looks with concern at Shelagh and tightens his grip on her shoulders. She looks momentarily awkward, but upon seeing that Timothy has stopped and is looking more nervous about his presentation, looks at him and nods in encouragement. Timothy goes on. “Today I read about the immune system and bonds of adopted babies and I didn't quite understand all the words so.” He shuffles awkwardly and grins bashfully at his smiling parents. “According to the research of many scientists, adopted babies often have an excellent bond with their parents because ties are formed by spending time together, not just feeding. A lot of ties are formed at feeding, but often just in the act of feeding a baby, not in how it's done.” He continues through three more pages of his day's work.

When Timothy finishes, he looks up. His dad is holding his mum tight and is looking at him like he couldn't be more proud. His mum looks a bit teary, but happy-teary and is beaming at him and cradling Angela close. Patrick opens his other arm and Timothy climbs into his lap, resting his long legs on Shelagh's lap with Angela on his thighs. He hadn't done this since he had polio, but it was nice to be a kid after being grown up.

“Well done, Tim.” Patrick kisses the crown of his head. “We're all tied together because we're family, and that's what matters. Well done.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wasn't that fluffy. Go to the dentist, the sweetness has rotted your teeth.
> 
> I just want them to be happy, okay??


End file.
